We couldn't imagine the emptiness of a creature who put a razor to her wrists and opened her veins, the emptiness and the calm.
Jeffrey EugenidesRead
Is there anything as incredible as the love story of your own parents? Anything as hard to grasp as the fact that those two over-the-hill players, permanently on the disabled list, were once in the starting lineup? It's impossible to imagine my father, who in my experience was aroused mainly by the lowering of interest rates, suffering the acute, adolescent passions of the flesh.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote reflects on the complexity and evolution of parental love, contrasting their past and present selves.
In this quote, Jeffrey Eugenides explores the idea that the love story of one's parents is both remarkable and difficult to comprehend as it contrasts sharply with their current state. He humorously illustrates how his perception of his father, who seems mundanely focused on financial matters, conflicts with the notion that he was once a young man filled with passion and vitality, akin to being in the prime of life. This juxtaposition highlights the changes in people over time and prompts a deeper reflection on the nature of love and relationships as they evolve.
Themes
LoveParentsRelationshipsAgingIdentity
In practice
Example use cases
In a speech about family values, this quote could highlight the journey of love over time.
More from Jeffrey Eugenides
All quotes →It was the combination of many factors... With most people, suicide is like Russian roulette. Only one chamber has a bullet. With the Lisbon girls, the gun was loaded. A bullet for family abuse. A bullet for genetic predisposition. A bullet for historical malaise. A bullet for inevitable momentum. The other two bullets are impossible to name, but that doesn't mean the chambers were empty.
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Depression is like a bruise that never goes away. A bruise in your mind. You just got to be careful not to touch it where it hurts. It's always there, though.
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She lost much of her appetite. At night, an invisible hand kept shaking her awake every few hours. Grief was physiological, a disturbance of the blood. Sometimes a whole minute would pass in nameless dread - the bedside clock ticking, the blue moonlight coating the window like glue - before she`d remember the brutal fact that had caused it.
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It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused. Sitting on the porch, you could feel it: the air wishing it was water.
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Jerome was sliding and climbing on top of me and it felt like it had the night before, like a crushing weight. So do boys and men announce their intentions. They cover you like a sarcophagus lid. And call it love.
Jeffrey EugenidesRead
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